


my kingdom for your graces

by queenofthestarrrs



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: (Or Was It?), Churches & Cathedrals, Hallucinations, M/M, Miracles, Roman Catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:17:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthestarrrs/pseuds/queenofthestarrrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's a lapsed Universal Unitarian which really said something about his devotion to the faith (practically non-existent), but that certainly didn't mean he didn't believe in miracles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my kingdom for your graces

“You’re not dressed for church, you know.” The little girl gently tapped on Foggy’s shoulder. She looked to be about seven, maybe eight at the oldest, and was dressed in the maroon and black dress-thingy from the Catholic just down the block. Her hair was slicked back into a thick braid was tied off with a scrunchie that matched the pattern of her school uniform. The whole thing swung like a thick black rope whenever she seemed to move her head even the slightest. “I don’t think Jesus likes sweatpants.”  

 

Foggy glanced down at his lap, suddenly self-conscious of his outfit. It wasn’t as if he had planned to be sitting in a Catholic church at seven in the morning while wearing ratty sweatpants and the shirt he got from the Columbia Law Improv Club.  It was just that-. When the hospital had-. He just didn’t have a lot of time. He didn’t have a lot of time to get out of bed and then run (sprint) down seven blocks only to get stalled at the entrance to the-.

 

He forcibly pushed the memories of the early morning moments out of his head. Instead, he focused on the shoddily painted statue of Jesus that hung at the front of the space.

 

Foggy shrugged almost absentmindedly. “I don’t know what I need to wear to a church. But I guess you’re right. Jesus probably doesn’t like sweatpants. If He did, well, I guess the eleventh commandment would have been ‘Thou shalt wearth sweatpants everyday.’”

 

The girl gave him a soft giggle that revealed an expansive of tiny gaps where her little teeth might have been a few weeks ago. She placed one of her hands on the pew in front of them and seemed to inch a little closer to him.

 

“You’re really funny, mister. What’s your name?” She asked him, still giggling.

 

“Foggy.”

 

Her braid fell over her shoulder as she tilted herself to the side. The red and yellow light that came in from the stained glass window reflected off of the glossy black of her hair,  illuminating an almost auburn undertone. “But Foggy isn’t a real name, mister. It’s a kind of weather. Well, actually, I just learned this in school the other day. Fog is actually just a cloud that’s really, really, really close to the earth. How cool is that? Like everytime I go out in the fog, I get to touch a cloud. But anyway what’s your real name?”

 

“My real name?”

 

The girl nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, you know, your real name. It’s the one your parents yell at you when they know you did something wrong. When my parents yell at me, they never ever call me Crissy. They call me Christina Maria.”

 

Christina Maria. Jesus, that was the most Catholic name he had ever heard in his entire life. It was almost as if this kid’s parents were practically predestining her to become a nun or a saint or both. Matt had said that both was possible, or at least had thought it sounded like something Matt would say. He could imagine it now, though. Sister Christina Maria, patron saint of formal first names.  

 

“So,” Crissy sucked at the air until it whistled in the gaps, “what’s your real name?”

 

“It’s Franklin Patrick.”

 

Crissy’s giggles dissolved into full blown laughter, and a smile bloomed on Foggy’s face despite himself. As she laughed, she scooted herself even closer. She was practically on top of his lap when a stern looking woman glared back at them from the front row.

 

“So,” she tossed her braid back over her shoulder, “what are you doing here in sweatpants, Franklin Patrick?”

 

What was he doing here? He was a lapsed Universal Unitarian, which wasn’t saying much as far as religious rigidity went. It was just that the minute he passed this place that he felt as if he should go in. He felt as if should get on his knees and beg for some kind of intercession from a god he wasn’t even sure really existed.

 

“My boyfriend is in the hospital.” Foggy started paw nervously at the edge of his t-shirt. Talking in a packed courtroom, yeah fine. Talking to a little girl he had just met in a church that he didn’t go to, apparently not fine. “He-.”

 

“Wait, your boyfriend?” Crissy stared at him, eyes as wide as a pair of saucers.

 

“Well, I didn’t mean boyfriend. I mean my friend. He’s, uh, my friend who just so happens to be another boy.” He winced and grabbed aggressively at the hem of his shirt. Leave it to him to say he liked boys to a little girl who probably thinks liking other boys is a one way ticket straight to the firey pits of hell.

 

“But you said boyfriend.”

 

He glared at her. “Yeah, I know what I said, but I mean friend boy. I mean boy friend. I mean my friend who just so happens to be a fellow boy.”

 

She smiled. “You’re lying. He’s not you friend boy if you guys do that grown up stuff.”

 

“What kind of grown up stuff are you talking about, Crissy?” Foggy asked, shifting nervously. Okay, maybe the crisis had been averted because clearly this little girl had some kind of sex education. And Matt had said that the Catholics were prudes. Ha!

 

She grabbed at his hair with a considerable amount force and pulled it until they were both huddle behind the back of the pew in front of them, their heads together. She cupped her mouth with hand.

 

“You know,” her voice dropped low, “kissing.”

 

Crisis not averted. If she was scandalized by kissing, she be horrified by some of thing he had done when he was drunk two weeks ago. He would scar her for life. Oh my God, he was corrupting the youth.

 

“Whatever,” whispered Foggy. He sat back up too quickly, banging his back off of the wooden pew. “He’s in the hospital.”

 

“Why?”

 

“He was in a fight.”

 

“Is he gonna be okay?”

 

“I don’t know, Crissy.”

 

“Oh.”

 

A fight was kind of an understatement . It was more of a curb-stomp. Matt being the curb-stomp-ee rather than the curb-stomper. Someone had found him in a back alley after last call, dressed only in a wife-beater and his boxers. He had been bleeding from a gash on his head, and his leg was apparently warped at a painfully unusual angle. It was only worse when the ambulance had picked him up. Preliminary tests showed, in addition to blood loss and a broken leg, that he had internal bleeding and possible swelling on his brain.

 

“My uncle was in the hospital once. He broke his ankle while playing basketball with my cousin. They thought he was gonna have to have surgery, and he was really scared. But my Abuelo was really calm when it happened. Did you know what he said to us?”

 

Foggy shook his head.

 

“He said: _Si quieres un mircale, tienes que rezar por una_.”

 

Foggy looked at her blankly. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

 

Crissy giggled a little bit. “Didn’t they teach you it in school? Like even just how to say a couple words?”

 

“I know how to say one.” Sweat was starting to gather at the back of his neck. It was roughly around eight, if he judged the passing of time correctly. It was around this time when New York became New York in summer, plauged with the smell of hot sewer and even hotter temperatures.

 

“What?”

 

“Avocado.” Foggy blinked back tears. If Matt died, he would never be able to eat guacamole ever again. Which was a stupid idea because it wasn’t as if Matt was going to die. Matt couldn’t die. There was not Nelson and Murdock without Murdock. There was no Foggy without Matt.

 

“That’s not a real word. Anyway he said if you want a miracle, you have to pray for one. And guess what? We prayed the Rosary together, and Tio was just fine. All he needed was a cast. Wasn’t that cool?”

 

They sat in silence for a moment. The elderly woman from the front row was beginning to gather her things to leave. A candle flickered.

 

“Do you want to pray for your friend?”

 

“I guess that would be okay. He would really appreciate that. He goes to church a lot. ”

 

“You should go with him.” Crissy scrambled to pull down the kneeler. She flung her braid over her shoulder again and feel to her knees in the eager faith that only little children seemed to have. Foggy followed in suit even though he felt as if he was just trying to imitate her clumsily .

 

“Okay.” Crissy folded her hands. “The first thing you do is cross yourself. First you have to touch your forehead and then your chest and then your left shoulder and then your right. Just like this.”

 

She waited patiently as Foggy stumbled through the motion.

 

“Okay, then next you talk to God.”

 

Easier said then done.

 

“I’ll start.” Crissy told him as their awkward pause grew. She slowly closed her eyes and bent her head. Foggy tried to imagine Matt at the same age, before sunglasses and canes and chemical burns. He couldn’t.

 

“Dear God. I know You’re really busy. The other day in school we learned that there are 7.1 billion people in the entire world. That’s like New York times a gazillion, so we know You have lots of other people to think about. But my teacher also said that God cares about each one of us. So I’m here with my new friend, Franklin Patrick. His boyfriend-. You never told me his name, Franklin Patrick.”

 

Foggy jolted. “Um, it’s Matt.”

 

Crissy scowled at him.

 

“It’s Matthew Michael.”

 

“His boyfriend, Matthew Michael, who has a really pretty name because he was named after a saint and an angel where I was just named after a saint. Anyway, he’s in the hospital because he got in a fight. I know fighting is a sin, but You forgive sins a lot. So we came to ask if You could forgive his sin and make him better. Amen.”

 

She lifted her head up, a serene look on her face.

 

“See,” smiled Crissy brightly. “It’s not that hard. Now it’s your turn.”

 

“Uh, okay.” Foggy bowed his head. His hair was greasy against his cheeks. He hadn’t had the chance to wash it. It was kind of pathetic.

 

“I know I don’t come here very often, but I need a favor. Matt’s a good guy. Matt’s a great guy actually, but You probably already knew that. Anyway, I just want him to okay. He needs to be okay. Amen. Or whatever.”

 

“It was a good try.”

 

Quietly, his phone began to chime away to the tune of _Staying Alive_ by the Bee-gees, his ringtone for Karen. Maybe the Lord Almighty had a twisted sense of humor.

 

“Who is it?” She asked, trying to lean over his shoulder.

 

“It’s my friend, Karen.” He paused. “Oh right, sorry. It’s Karen Penelope.”

 

She smiled. “That’s a really pretty name.”  

 

Foggy grinned once again in spite of himself and clicked. “Karen is a really pretty girl.”

 

“Foggy!” Karen’s voice was shrill over the phone. “He’s awake! He’s awake, and he’s asking for you. So you better haul ass from wherever you decided to park it and get here!”  
  


“Watch your language. I’m sitting in a church.”

 

“Sorry,” he could hear Karen’s smile through the phone. “Haul ass, your holiness, Lord Foggy.”

 

Foggy laughed, actually laughed for the first time in what had seemed like ages. “I’ll be right over.”

 

Foggy turned to Crissy who seemed to have grasped what was going on because she was smiling too, pink tongue pressed up against little gaps. She looked utterly delighted, and Foggy was struck with how much he appreciated her enthusiasm.

 

“Listen, I have to go.” He had already started making his way to the doors. “But I just wanted to say thanks, Christina Maria. You helped me more than you think you did. If you ever want some candy or an ice cream cone, I work at Nelson and Murdock in Hell’s Kitchen. Just drop by. I’d love to buy you one.”

 

He turned one last time to find only an empty church. Weird.

 

“Christina Maria?” He called.

 

There was no answer.

 

“Crissy?”

 

An elderly priest poked his head out from behind one of the pillars. He had thinning hair and a confused look on his face. “Are you looking for someone, son?”

 

“Uh, yeah.” Foggy held out his hand by his waist. “A little Latina girl. About this tall. She was wearing this black and reddish school uniform and had a long black braid. She was just here a minute ago.”

 

The priest took a few steps forward. “Son, you were here alone this morning. I didn’t see anyone with you. In fact, I haven’t seen anyone here today yet. It’s just been you. You were sitting by yourself, praying. I didn’t want to disturb you. Are you going to be okay, son? You look a little lightheaded.”

 

“Um, yeah. I’ll be fine. I just have to, uh, go somewhere. That isn’t here. Right now. So, um, bye. Bye, Father or, um, m-word. Bye whatever that m-word was.”

 

“Good-bye, son. I hope your friend is okay.”

 

“Thanks.”

  
Foggy could have swore that he saw a little girl, in a plaid school uniform, sitting outside of the hospital, eating an ice cream cone as he rushed through the doors. But then again, he hadn’t slept in two days. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was a weird piece. i actually really like it, but it was weird. (as well as completely unbeta'd. whoops.) @shehulkings on tumblr, so you too can watch me as this stupid show starts to take over my entire life.


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